


Say It

by Coiriuil



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 09:40:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2020245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coiriuil/pseuds/Coiriuil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Voicing his feelings has never been a strong point for Sherlock Holmes, not even, it seems, when faced with losing the  thing that matters to him most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say It

“I ….love you, Sherlock”

It had been murmured into the crook of his neck as Jim’s hips continued to move, riding out the last waves of their shared climax, the fourth time Sherlock had allowed Jim to take him to bed.

It had been said without the demand of a reply, without the weight of expectancy that Sherlock had been so used to hearing from his previous lovers.

The fourth time Sherlock had called his name, back arching as worshiping hands made their claim on so much more than his body.

The last time that they pretended it was nothing more than a game.

Sherlock had never expected for him to say it first, for him to make real the truth they had been dancing around the edges of for so long, that this was more than an escape from the boredom, that they were more than just two sides of one coin. Sherlock could admit he felt something.

But was that love?

He needed more data.

Sherlock had just smiled at him, pulled him close and kissed him softly, hoping that would be enough for now, as he didn't want to lie.

He never wanted to lie, not to Jim. Not about this.

Jim had pulled away with a smirk, settled behind him, and held him close. Sherlock didn't stay that night. He slipped out with the first rays of dawn, a note left on his pillow that promised his return.

It was enough.

——————————————————-

“I love you.”

It had been spoken in the rain; the two of them huddled beneath the awning of a café in France. They’d run under it to escape the sudden downpour, practically giggling as they found shelter. Jim had promised him the world, and Sherlock intended to see as much of it as he could. They weren't lying now. They spent nights and days and sometimes whole weeks together lying around Jim’s many flats, talking and touching. Jim held him close to his chest and searched his face as he spoke the words. Sherlock’s laughter slowly trailed off, the smile remaining on his face as he leaned forward, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and breathing him in.

“You’re perfect..” He murmured.

Jim stiffened.

But it was enough.

—————————————————

“Sherlock, please. Please, I love you.”

This time….

This time it had been spoken through tears, accentuated with the pressure of a hand enclosing his wrist. Sherlock cried as well. It wasn't up to him, James was playing with people he didn't understand, And Sherlock was not only a liability to Jim, but James was now a liability to Sherlock. Mycroft had promised worse would come to Jim than loneliness if Sherlock didn't go now.

Drawers hung half out of the dresser, clothes flung haphazardly into a suitcase that he didn't even own. 

“I know you feel the same, Sherlock. You just can’t say it, can you? Not even now?” Jim was desperate and Sherlock hated him for it, hated him for making him feel like it was his fault. Sherlock couldn't take another step, and he stood still as Jim pulled him close.

“I love you..please, please don’t go..” Sherlock stiffened, before pulling away.

“I’m sorry, Jim. That just isn't enough.”

He walked quickly then, pulling the door closed behind him as he left and trying not to hear the vase smash against the wall, or the strangled cry that mirrored the one that he stifled behind his hands as he sank down on the other side of the door he had never wanted to close.

————————————————————————-

Sherlock glanced down at their clasped hands, lifting an eyebrow at Jim’s use of his non-dominant hand to shake his. Jim met his eyes, staring in a way that mirrored how they used to be, before Mycroft and the threat of casualty had torn them apart, left them make-believe strangers as they played their game from afar.

Sherlock thought he had convinced him that there was nothing. That was the only way to keep one another safe, after all. To lie. To the world.

To each other.

It wasn’t said this time, of course. Not verbally anyway. Sherlock met his gaze as he felt a slight change in Jim’s stance before-

Sherlock stumbled backward, heart thudding painfully in his chest as shock, followed by denial, followed by bone-breaking grief registered on his face. The weight of a thousand wasted days crashed down on him, Jim’s empty threats echoing through him, playing over and over in that accent. He almost reached toward him.

He almost said it.

And then several things made sense at once.

Of course Jim wasn’t an idiot, of course he would have known. Why else would he try and dismantle Mycroft’s precious little hierarchy? The woman had been a tool, and Sherlock had ruined Jim’s plan through his unquenchable need to be right.

Obviously there was only one course of action left now.

And Jim had given it to him.

What better way to disappear than for the world to fancy you dead?

{This had to be it.}

{Jim couldn’t be dead}

————————————————

That same night…Sherlock waited for hours, pacing in the shadows outside of the flat they met in the fourth night.

The night that it should have been said.

He was beginning to doubt his assumption, beginning to wish He’d jumped in earnest, when the air seemed to shift.

“Very clever, Sweet thing. For a moment there I thought you wouldn’t get it..” Sherlock exhaled and turned to face him, shamelessly throwing himself against his chest, the contact he’d denied himself for two years finding relief in the familiarity of the arms that gathered him close.

Nothing was said, because mouths were too busy, as well as hands, as the door was opened and kicked shut behind them, the couch the only thing they could bring themselves to separate long enough to fall down on, hands retracing old paths as cerulean eyes slid shut, and Chocolate ones stayed open, unwilling to miss a moment.

———————————————————————

The flight to Dublin left early the next morning, everything having been perfectly arranged. Sherlock brought nothing with him, because nothing else mattered, though he couldn’t know that Jim considered his passenger the only thing that mattered.

Sherlock kept his hold on Jim’s sleeve as he led him through the airport faces down as cctv cameras were persuaded to aim away from their path. Sherlock hardly breathed until they were seated on the plane, Jim murmuring reassuring words in his hear.

None of which were the words Sherlock had been trying to work up the nerve to reciprocate.

——————————————————————————————-

Dublin proved the perfect place for them, quiet and regal. A bay window that Sherlock often stood before as he played his violin, Jim standing behind him with his arms around his waist.

“I love you.”

He seemed surprised when he’d said it. As if he couldn’t believe it would ever be said.

Sherlock frowned as he considered that he quite possibly had believed that.

His silence didn’t last for long, however, as he removed Sherlock’s violin from his grip, setting it on his chair before pulling him forward, kissing him once.

“I love you too, Sherlock.” And they continued to remind each other, as Jim pulled him down the hallway and into bed, Sherlock repeating it in Jim’s ear, as many times as he’d whispered it to the darkness as he laid alone in 221b.

———————————————————————————

“Sherlock?” Jim tapped Sherlock’s chin, drawing him out of his reminiscing. He tilted his head as if to say ‘Well?’ Sherlock glanced around him, taking in the subtle beauty of his surroundings.

“Do you?” Jim prompted, his voice nearly a whisper.

Sherlock met his eyes.

“Obviously.”

He leaned forward then, grabbing Jim by the lapels of his suit and kissing him none too gently as the Officiator chuckled. He pulled away.

“I love you.”

“Well I certainly hope so , ‘cause now you’re stuck with me. ‘Til death do us part’.”

Not that death had ever stopped them before.


End file.
